Hello everyone! I'm back with a long update :)
I've had nearly two months to read and redo this chapter.. Quite a lot is going on in my life right now - with university starting soon I'm really hoping I find enough time to keep updating this...
My round of thank-yous, of course, to my lovely reviewers (I've decided to answer reviews at the beginning of the chapters - I lose track of PMs!)
Ferilium: Many thanks for your kind words! I'm glad you liked that phonecall - that part was very difficult to write, from Kurtis' perspective and all.. Hope you enjoy this as well!
Nemesis: Thank you so much for that lengthy review! And by all means, you should go ahead and write an AOD fic - believe me we can never have enough of those! And I share most of your views too esp. about Kurtis! Hopefully, some of your questions would be answered in this chapter! :)
isaalacrymosaa: Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad you liked Lara and Kurtis' reactions in the chapter.. However I believe you're a little mistaken - Nicol was just a German army captain - done and dusted with... The ID of the mystery lady will become clear by the end of this chapter.. Hopefully this should answer all your questions :) Let me know what you think of this! :)
Also, I realised that AngelOfDarkness Michelle, bad-boy-kurtis and AngelinaCroft have read and favourited this story.. Many, many thanks to you guys - although I'd love it if you'd drop me a review and let me know what you think of this and how I'm faring as well! :)
*hands out cookies/pudding/brownies/anything-sweet-to-everybody*
Before I start this chapter - let me just say that it may come across as a slightly boring one - but is essential to the plot of the story.. Also, I've tried my best at capturing Lara and Kurtis in their true characters, so do let me know what you think of them..
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to their respective owners... And what's mine is mine :p
RETURN OF DARKNESS
CHAPTER 8: SURVIVAL
Airplanes. An old foe of the famed raider, with plenty more bite than bark. Not flying in particular, nor helicopters.
Just airplanes.
Whether they were commercial carriers or any of the four jets currently part of the Croft estate. She had hated them as a child, still not too far on her favourites list as a teenage student, and after the planecrash in the Himalayas concluding an ill-fated ski-trip, she abhorred the prospect of airplanes.
But the adventurer's disdain over air travel wasn't even the last thing on her mind when she boarded her Gulfstream a little past midnight with her battered backpack and moody comrade.
Exhausted after witnessing a day of bloodshed followed by more bloodshed, Lara quietly welcomed Kurtis onto the plane. Zip, ever so efficient, had arranged for the private jet to arrive on a small Czech airfield within three hours of the attack at the motel. Lara did not even have to ask him; when she telephoned him, from the same booth Kurtis had used to call his mother, he had already notified her of her flight's status. Lara had greatly appreciated the thought.
Another two hours and before the crack of dawn, they would be arriving at Surrey. At the deathly-still, centuries-old mammoth mansion of a house she deemed home.
The thought did nothing to appease the raider of the tight knot in her stomach.
Kurtis grunted his thanks and moved in. His meagre few possessions included his wallet, complete with his fake IDs, passport, Chirugai and his gun that Lara handed to him earlier at the motel.
He settled himself away from Lara, indicating not-so-subtly that he had not forgotten about her earlier words. The impression was made, but Lara was too tired to come up with a comeback – with at least 55 civilians dead within a day in attacks aimed obviously toward the duo, she was already dealing with much more than what she had bargained for.
She closed her eyes, and the past three weeks passed in front of her eyes in a whirlwind of flashes - Werner's broken glasses, the blood on her hands, the Obscura paintings, Bouchard, the Nephilim's sign engraved on Karel's palm and the Sanglyph, a pair of piercing blue eyes that spoke volumes even when accompanied with an unreadable expression.
Throwing a glance at Kurtis, she pitifully realised that he did not even have any decent clothes to wear. He was clad in his ancient green combat trousers, torn bandages and a dark, bloodied jacket "stolen" from one of the dead security guards at the hospital. No undershirt. The entire day, he had battled – with her and alongside her, in freezing temperatures almost half-naked and still recovering from the ordeal at the Strahov. Presently, he sat with his legs stretched onto the seat in front of him, eyes closed, one arm folded over his abdomen and the other pinching the bridge of his nose in deep thought.
The picture of a tragic hero. She was surprised at how flawlessly he managed to pull it off, every time.
Out of the blue, she recalled how the demon hunter had gently embraced her as they lay on the ground, shielded her, held her as if she meant the whole world to him.
She swallowed another bitter bout of guilt. She should not have blamed him for his father's death. Period.
Making a mental note of getting him a new wardrobe, Lara pondered over how she could make amends with the Lux Veritatis.
'Wonderful,' she thought, unamused. 'Just the perfect diversion from reliving the plane-crash memories from all those years ago.'
In no mood for immediate conversation, Lara's stomach began some uncomfortable flips as the Gulfstream eased off the runway and into the air in almost careless abandon. Luckily, the pilot already had his orders.
Lara wanted to vomit.
Simply perfect.
It was hard for Kurtis to completely ignore Lara. Even with his eyes closed shut, he could feel her eyes on him; unnerving, apologetic. Although not an empath and only borderline telepathic, he could feel the anxiety radiating from her. From God knows what part of him, he felt the need to comfort her and chase her demons away.
But from a side he was more comfortable and familiar with, he wanted her to suffer a bit. Familiar because he was so used to revelling in bitterness, he seldom felt any other emotion. Comfortable, because hating Lara should, theoretically, deflect him from feeling some of the deeper and more dangerous emotions he seemed to be harbouring exclusively for her. However temporary the deflection was.
Damn.
Before the crises that struck today, he had spent a wonderfully pleasant two weeks with her as he recuperated. Discussion upon the events of the Strahov had been deliberately ignored then - they knew their time together was short, thereby it went unannounced that it be agreeable.
He unclenched his jaw and let out a slow breath. The smell of burnt wood and smoke seemed to emanate from him - and the image of the burning man and the nurse's head being ripped off clean from her shoulders seemed to play on endless loop in his mind.
How the Proto returned was absolutely beyond him. How it died an even bigger mystery. What the scrawlings meant, who orchestrated these attacks - everything went from confusing to more confusing, until he could not stand it anymore.
He was glad Lara indirectly made him ask for those books. He hated how she had resorted to a harsh personal attack to make her point, but that phonecall was long overdue. His screwed-up ancestors must have written something to ease their current misery.
They were in the air since about half an hour now. Despite the luxurious setting, he felt like crap. Boaz's lovebite had begun to throb since the motel. Now it was a dull pain that annoyed more than it hurt.
He pretended to ignore her. But did not imagine for how long he would have to pretend doing so; they couldn't possibly save humanity from imminent doom from the measly forty euros he currently had to his name.
Hell, he can't even afford a pair of decent jeans with forty euros in hand!
So immersed was the ex-Legionnaire in the wry hilarity of his financial turmoil, he hardly noticed Lara clear her throat.
'Here it comes,' he thought sarcastically to himself.
"Listen," she began, voice strained. "I never got around to thanking you for coming back for me. Although entirely unnecessary and rash. But uhh... It.. It meant..."
She paused, unable to continue. From her shame, or her own anger at her shame, she couldn't discern.
"It meant nothing." He didn't like the way he stared ahead with no eye contact when he said it, but truth be told, Kurtis was just too pissed to act noble. His tone could have cut through concrete.
"Well, to me it did, and-"
"Shut up, Croft."
Lara was too stunned to speak for a second, but then she rose to the challenge, her tone the type of calculated calm that one uses normally to reason with a child. The kind that inadvertently sends an adult over the edge.
"Look, we're both stressed, exhausted and we haven't a damn clue as to what the bloody hell is going on right now. I said some things that I shouldn't have earlier and-"
"That honestly the best you could come up with?" Kurtis lips were curled in a sneer and he still gazed straight ahead.
He could tell Lara was counting to ten mentally. He knew he was pushing it now, and should cut it out.
But...
Oh, what the hell. Its not like he had a lot of self respect to begin with, so what's losing a little more?
"You know what? You're right. That is the best I could do as of now. So ... Sorry," Lara's voice sounded as if she was physically in pain.
Kurtis would have liked to think he was enjoying himself. Truth was, in some part foreign to his being, he was aware he was hurting as well. He just wanted to move on.
"Won't happen again," she ended, lowly and forcedly through grounded jaws.
Kurtis grunted his reply, not caring whatever message that might spend. She had apologised, however awkward that might be. He had forgiven her a considerable time before that. Whatever she said, she struck his most sensitive nerve, an issue he still hadn't ever sorted through properly.
As much as he hated himself, he had come to realise he had loved Konstantine all along in some crazy, unimaginable way. Maybe his betrayal had killed him, maybe it hadn't. But wherever Konstantine was, Kurtis knew he would approve of him right now, as he pathetically tried to piece this crumbling mess back together.
He never allowed himself to think otherwise. Never.
But despite their efforts, the shadow war was still raging. And innocents were dying. If there was anyone else on the entire planet apart from him who could save this world, it was her. His unresolved paternal issues had to wait. There was too much at stake.
"Truce," he voiced quietly.
Somewhere in the outskirts of Munich, Germany
4 days. 3 hours of sleep. 55 civilians dead.
And counting.
She had fuelled herself on coffee and nerves these past few days. And even after the exhausting events of the day, she deliberately denied her self any semblance of slumber. No matter how much her eyelids burned and watered, or the pounding in her head escalated, or her muscles and nerves screamed for a breather.
I will not sleep.
She was beginning to get sick of this mantra.
Sitting on a creaky chair the dingy motel room she rented for the night, she convulsively arranged her belongings in a neat pattern over and over. Her body was aching in areas she never knew existed, and she knew sleep deprivation was in fact, a torture of the body. But in a battle for sanity or respite, she chose sanity. She couldn't bear to live through those nightmares again.
But now, could her displaying the signature symptoms of OCD, get even more ironic? And how long exactly before post-traumatic stress, combat fatigue and eventually depression set in? If she survived, maybe throw in some survivor's guilt?
She was after all, just a human.
'Insanity. Leave me be,' she tried willing it away. Didn't work.
What is real, what is unreal. What happens when reality is so terrifying, it seems unreal? And when you slip into dreams, the true unrealism continues? What happens to the mind when it cannot discern reality from unreality?
What happens to reality when it is eventually defined by unreality?
The text and books she had opened hours ago swam in front of her eyes, and she knews she could not process anything for now. These unanswerable questions were her only defence; she had to keep those hallucinations at bay. Those seemingly harmless hallucinations from lack of sleep, where her nightmares bleed into frightening actuality before her eyes as she's wide awake. Wide awake.
She glances at the time on her cellphone. It's 4:12am.
When reality and unreality merge into single ugly monster she simply cannot outrun..
Run... Running... Oh, to simply run away..I am so... Very tired..
Her mind shuts down for a while - she knows it as she registers the blank vaccum where only moments ago, existential dilemmas were richocheting off the walls like no one's business.
She's awake, but she gives into the blankness for a moment.
A break is exactly what her mind needed. But not the kind she was in for.
The weight lifted from her chest as soon as the words were out. The nausea eased a bit, and after what felt like a lifetime, Lara relaxed. A verbal truce had been established. Probably the only positive of the day.
"There is a prophecy," Kurtis said, breaking the silence unexpectedly. It was then he turned to face her, with a soft, troubled expression.
Lara instantly fished out Werner's notebook and got to writing. "Go on."
"An inscription, carved on a site considered a... kind of a mass graveyard for the Nephilim. Occitan was the one who stumbled across it first - Reginaldus, using Occitan's descriptions and his knowledge of the Alchemist's works gave more structure to it. Somewhere in either Syria or Anatolia.. can't remember exactly..."
"Why is this Reginaldus so important, as opposed to the other knights?"
"Primarily because his work was multi-dimensional. His travels and writings were most extensive and detailed. Aligning himself with the Cabal, he leaked important plans of the Cabal, before falling for Eckhardt's ideals himself. Afterwards, no other member had played double agent as well as him. The Order, though hurt by his betrayal, always valued the information he provided."
Lara digested this for a while before asking again.
"Was the inscription in the same writing as the ones found on the Monstrum crime scenes?"
Kurtis frowned in thought. "A much more ancient form, but yes it's the same language. My father could read through Nephilic like the morning paper, but me..." he shook his head dismissively. " I never stuck around long enough learn it myself."
Lara nodded slowly.
"The basics of translating it are in some of the scripts, we'll get them soon enough."
"I suppose you don't remember what the inscription said?"
Kurtis paused, and recalled. "It was a curse upon humanity. A curse of the Fallen. Spoke how the Nephili would be reborn in shadow. From amongst rivers of blood, bloody skies, they watch and wait. It affirmed that they will arise. They will be the darkness, the destroyers. The Watchers. They will hunt down the Traitors. And they will eradicate the Beacon. Breed hell on earth. All that crap. You've probably had your share of it over the years."
Lara swallowed and felt iron bands of dread clamp her chest. She definitely had had her share of ancient prophecies, but none had translated onto reality with such defining horror.
"They just can't give us a break, can they?" Lara asked, mind faraway - picturing the inscription in some forgotten cavern in the middle of a nameless desert.
Kurtis cracked a wry smirk. "And this isnt even the worst part. Our powers are such that they have strengthened throughout generations of the Order, developing through bloodline, over the centuries. The DeCombel bloodline manifested most of telekinetic and mental strength, but there was some clairvoyance as well. Somewhere mixed in along my ancestry."
Lara balked at the revelation. "And... You're saying you're psychic? You can..." She arched an eyebrow skeptically, "... confirm the curse?"
Kurtis broke eye contact, almost regretting mentioning this. "I'm not a true clairvoyant, Lara. I don't get visions or whatnot. But my father always thought my uhh.. So-called " experiences" with demonic spirits with the Order, in the Legion, and my nightmares all led to something much more sinister..."
"And I assume there has been a single recurring nightmare that has always plagued you all your life, that effectively, puts everything into perspective?"
Kurtis shook his head slowly. "I wish it was as simple as that, Lara..." He trailed off into a long pause.
She is in the motel room. The pasty-yellow walls were once white. The seats are cheap rexin. Everything is washed in an amber glow of the lamp at the bedside table. The bed is vacant. Cheap green carpet.
Green carpet. With dark maroon lines branching out steadily, inching forward, slowly, moving toward her feet.
Wait, wait! What?!
Desert eyes widen with horror. The maroon patterns are under her feet now, slowly moving under the chair upon which she is sitting. Cold wetness. White socks. Her white socks feel wet from where she had placed them on the floor.
She is wide awake. This is no dream, she knows she is wide awake!
She feels sweat gather at her brow. She shuffles her feet. The pattern is a tad deformed now. But the maroon stems are widening with stronger flow. Her throat feels parched, and she feels the tendons on her back and neck stiffen into roped cords ready to snap at any second.
Rivers of blood. Under her feet.
Fire. Looking up, she realises that everything is on fire. Everything is burning. But.. This isn't the room she rented. No, this is.. some kind of a huge, rocky cavern. She moves towards the opening, and a haunting wailing fills her ears, reverberating to the core of her soul.
Ahead of her are black mountains, plains upon plains of muddy-red sands. She steps onto them, and realisation dawns with frightening clarity.
Blood.
The sands are drenched in human blood. So much, that it is pooled upto her ankles as her feet sink onto the ground.
She is wide awake.
And then she sees them. In the crimson sky. Shining an ominous green that was as dazzling as it was petrifying. They spread their wings. They shriek to the heavens.
The forsaken arise. It is time to take the fall. The screams are deafening her... The ground starts to vibrate.. She can feel herself falling... Falling... Screaming...
She realized the raspy cry had come from her own throat as soon as her butt makes contact extremely unceremoniously with the floor. But the slight pain is welcome. The haunting sounds echo in her head, but the hum of the radiator slowly registers itself. She feels rivulets of sweat run from her forehead down to the tip of her nose. Her vision finally clears...
The dingy motel, the walls, the damned carpet. Everything is the same.
"That was one, very nasty hallucination," she spoke to herself - wanting, needing to hear her own shaky voice to erase the shrieking that still rang in her ears.
She got up slowly, trembling and somehow stumbled to the bathroom. She turned on the faucet and splashed ice cold water onto her face, trying to wash the horror from her mind. Looking up at her reflection, she nearly did a double take.
Her natural wheatish-complexion was pasty, sickly. Her once soft oval face now all angles and ridges. Dark shadows further contrasting against her gold-brown eyes. But it was the fear, the terror in her own eyes that had her reeling.
When her mind registered the sound of her cellphone vibrating, she nearly jumped out of her skin - before pulling herself together. Must be her alarm for morning prayers.
"Hello. My name is Noor," she whispered to her deathly reflection as she performed the customary ablutions. "Welcome to my darkness."
It was quite a while as the duo mulled everything over
"The Lux Veritatis - Light of Truth. Same as the Beacon?" Lara was nothing short of amazed at the rich history of Kurtis' order - as opposed to the bland, paltry story of the original Knights Templars.
"Theoretically that's the way it should be. But Reginaldus had another interpretation. He did not lump together the Order and the Beacon as one. He wrote it would be an article - he leaned towards the idea of a book or scripture, or some kind of text. Though the Order, later, thought it was some kind of an artifact, powered through divine force-"
"The Shards? Your frisbee?"
"Possibly, but we cant be sure." He sighed tiredly and combed his hair roughly back with his fingers.
A thick silence fell upon the adventurers.
"This was not how it was all supposed to work out..." Kurtis growled after a long bout of silence. "With Eckhardt dead, the threat should have ended. Simple as that. The Monstrum, the damned Nephilim?!" He clenched his eyes shut and felt a ferocious headache thunder across from temple to temple.
"It's not as if the world hasn't seen its share of power-hungry fools," Lara remarked.
"These aren't fools, Lara.. These are - hell, I don't know what these are!" He felt every bit as cruel as he sounded, before sighing in defeat. "I feel under-prepared, Croft... Deceived... Being trained by the Order to battle this all my life. When in fact what I was really taught was only how to hold my own when I faced Eckhardt and the Cabal. That's it. This..." He was speaking more with his hands. "This is an entirely different deal... The M.O. is different, the style is too wanton, too careless. As they know they will never be caught-"
"Or are too powerful to worry about being caught.." Lara nervously chewed on her lip. She finished his unvoiced confession. "This isn't the Monstrum we're facing now, it's full-fledged, bloody Nephilim. And you were never trained to battle true Nephilim, is that right?"
Kurtis squeezed his eyes tightly shut. The image of the nurse's head being ripped off clean her shoulders played through his mind again. "I wasn't. I don't have all the answers." A muscle twitched in cheek, as he growled out the words he had been too fearful to utter all this time. "Centuries upon centuries of bloodshed, secrecy - all futile. Back to square one again, no leads, no breakthroughs."
He finally opened his eyes after a deep pause, and fixed a determined cerulean glare upon Lara, his internal conviction shining through his eyes like diamonds. "Let me just say this, for the first and last time. Walk away, Croft. This has always been my fight - no matter what you say or think. This isn't one of your raiding missions, a challenge. It's a goddamn war with no chance of survival-"
"I never walk away, Trent. I thought you of all people at least understood that-"
Kurtis was furious. "Damn it, woman! I understand it!" he all but roared - before continuing, exasperated. "I understand it all too well - why else would I waste my breath trying to make you realise-!"
"Then waste it elsewhere, Trent. I am not backing down," Lara returned hotly.
But Kurtis met her fiery gaze with one of his own, and continued without even listening to her words, his tone low, dangerous - and morose. "It will kill me, Lara." His voice was so strong, so unwavering, he could have been talking about his life's ambitions - if he had any.
Even when Lara opened her mouth to protest, he did not stop.
"And it will kill you, too. But now, it's time, and this has to end; and I'd rather it goddamn ends with me than with you. There you have it! The truth."
Lara took in his steely resolve, his suicide wish, his unspoken words of protection for her. But she had been too stubborn, too independent and had gambled with enormous stakes for far too long.
Kurtis made it seem like a fight for survival. She was good at surviving. What she was bad at, was losing people close to her - something she was more than willing to remedy.
Despite her nausea, the cold surroundings of her jet, the icy black night outside, she felt a ray of hope pierce within the darkness of her soul like a burst of sunshine. For a second, she was back in Egypt, but this time, healing under the shaman's scant holdings, feeling her body and mind mend themselves.
She wanted to revel in the warmth of optimism for a small while, maybe even share it with Kurtis, before reality choked it off completely.
"It will end, it always does. But not at the cost of our lives, that I promise you."
Kurtis stared her down, but apart from annoyance, his eyes reflected another emotion that both he and Lara were too confused to name.
"We're ready to land, Lady Croft, Mr Trent. Please fasten your seatbelts, and hold on tight!" came the pilot's command through the speaker. The duo complied and within moments, felt the air craft descend.
"Welcome to my humble abode, Trent."
Okaayyy.. So finally done with this! Out of the past few chapters, I believe I'm most satisfied with this one - finally the plot seems to be taking shape and many of the questions have now been answered..
So firstly - we know who our mystery gal is.. This Noor- character.. Frankly, I have used my best friend's name for this (I once asked her its meaning, and was so intrigued and inspired, I've decided to use it here!) .. And this lady may be an unfamiliar OC, but believe me she is vital to the plot. And the whole LC, KT scenario ... Let's just leave it at that :D
It has been medically proven that lack of sleep can lead to severe hallucinations. I tried my best to create a scary hallucination, do let me know how it went :)
Now being a psychology student, I tend to focus on feelings and emotions and craziness in general because frankly, I believe Lara and even Kurtis must have their own psychological problems that they deal with somehow.. This psychological element, I believe adds a lot to the character..
So having said that - Anyone who reads, please, pleeeeeeeeese do let me know how this chapter went, especially in terms of characterisations.. See you all next time! :)